Mountain majesty
We’ve covered many miles over the hours since daybreak. Slowly, following a small river through the valley, we are approaching our destination. We’re carrying all our personal gear in our backpacks. In short, it’s tough as hell. We could have travelled on horseback to make it easier, but if there’s one thing we know about our 41-year-old chief guide, Kemal Batchaev, it’s that he doesn’t like horses.
It’s time for a break. We pick wild raspberries on the banks of the river. Kemal unpacks some cold chicken and a little bit of dry bread. He arranges the food on the ground, calls us towards him, and points to the chicken. “Eat chicken,” he mumbles, before lifting his arm at a
